The Game
by clarity
Summary: Based on the tale of The Agamemnon, by Aeschylus. The gods play with the lives of mortals in The Game as Troy goes to war.


A NOTE ON THE AGAMEMNON: One of the main themes of The Agamemnon is that of divine justice. It seems that in this text, as with all Greek drama, the gods are imperative to the fabric of the plot, yet they never once actually take active part in it. I've always found the ancient gods fascinating, and decided to play around with them, using Aeschylus's excellent story as my base.  
  
If, in doing so, you feel I have committed a heinous crime against the art of writing, I apologise. My style attempts to ape the drama of the ancient Greeks, but I realise I am neither ancient nor Greek and have probably screwed it up righteously. I hope you are able to take the piece as it is meant, as an exploration of a very fascinating play (and myth).  
  
THE GAME  
  
On the great Mount Olympus, resting place and home of the gods, a battle is about to begin. It will involve many lives, and much blood will be spilt. It will not, of course, occur upon the great Mountain, but those upon it will be involved very deeply all the same. The gods are about to commence their favourite game: Life.  
  
In the Hall, a room of unimaginable vastness which, somehow, also seems to give an impression of intricate definition, a table is set. It is not made of the bones of those yet unborn, nor is it bulit out of magical crystal. It resembles an ordinary, wooden table.  
  
Resting upon it is The World.  
  
The Gods of Olympus gather around the table. Although not all are playing, all are interested. If they do not pay attention, deceiving fellow gods may take and use what is not theirs. Mortals are a commodity upon Olympus. Mortals give power. Mortals are toys, trifling little things for the Gods of Olympus to play with, but, like any toy, they are jealously guarded. A child may break his own toy with pleasure, but should another child approach it, the toy will hold an importance previously unknown. Very little love passes between these mighty children.  
  
Zeus, ruler of the gods, leans over the table. It is his perogative to be the first to roll the dice. He draws back the hand that has knocked over cities, withdraws his breath and-  
  
One die has fallen upon Mycenae. Another has fallen upon Troy. The scene is set.  
  
The goddess Artemis reaches for the dice. Protector of the innocent, it was she who lost most heavily in the last game. It usually is.  
  
Holding the dice in her hand, Artemis seems uncertain. Slowly, she places the dice before her, and closes her eyes. She holds her fisted hand out towards the middle of the table. As her fingers uncurl, an image of a mortal appears. Artemis's piece is Calchas.  
  
It is dusk. The prophet Calchas sits meditating beneath the altar in a temple dedicated to Artemis. Several of the Chorus sit to one side, contemplating the figure.   
  
CHORUS: Will he speak? Three days and three nights  
  
He sits upon the cold stone  
  
And awaits a message from the gods. Three nights  
  
The incense has burned. Three days alone  
  
He has sat, since those two birds- wing'ed kings  
  
Tore apart the pregnant hare,  
  
Flesh from flesh, bone from bone-  
  
In signs, it was a glorious thing  
  
For surely now the victory of Troy is ours.  
  
What change the dreaded powers  
  
Could show more clear?  
  
How liken the two- one eagle fair  
  
One dark, as unalike in look, in sight  
  
As Agamemnon and Menelaus, as kings.  
  
But now, he sits, the portentious flight  
  
An omen of ill-will for all of us near.  
  
CALCHAS: Artemis! O Artemis,  
  
Lovely child of Zeus, O, change  
  
What you have shown your servant,  
  
Give not that which you portend.  
  
Withdraw the breath that blows the seas.  
  
With all your heavenly gifts, arrange  
  
Not that which I thy servant saw.  
  
Mighty Lord Apollo, Lord of Light-  
  
How can the same wound hold  
  
Two of the same, yet diff'r untold?  
  
Hold back thy sister- no!  
  
Innocent blood! How can it be?  
  
Fruit not yet taken on stone as cold  
  
As this, your altar where I rest. O goddess,  
  
You cannot want the innocent lamb  
  
Born from a lion's blood, yet this I see.  
  
Blood for blood, a child must die  
  
For forty children before. O Artemis.  
  
This you know full well:  
  
If blood for blood is ta'en this time,  
  
More, and yet more will be.  
  
A dog without a master, time will tell.  
  
Blood for blood. Can it end?  
  
CHORUS: Does he speak? What is this?  
  
What mighty powers control his mortal tongue?  
  
For never have I seen such holy kiss  
  
As what in him has just begun.  
  
CALCHAS: O protector of the running hare  
  
The whelp of fox and cub of bear  
  
Desire not what has been shown  
  
To I thy servant. Wait- do not leave  
  
This message of a desire ungrown  
  
Upon my mortal lips, I pray,  
  
For the fate which has been shown to me  
  
Calls blood for blood, and then blood for hate  
  
To cleanse the graves of what has been  
  
And cannot to good fortune portend.  
  
Calchas opens his eyes.  
  
CHORUS: What can it mean, this subtle uttering  
  
From divine to mortal lips?  
  
Calchas turns to the chorus.  
  
CALCHAS: Blood for blood, blood for seas.  
  
Agamemnon must be told.  
  
Chorus and Calchas exit.  
  
The goddess Artemis withdraws from the table, her move complete. Zeus smiles. The Game is played in no time, yet it is played in all time. That which occurs upon the playing field is not held within the strands of time, yet the past is remebered, and the future is in sight. For many of the gods, The Game is a time in which to make new conquests. For some, it is a time in which to receive justice, from both the mortal and the immortal, for past blows.  
  
Artemis, like all of his children, inherited a streak of Zeus's vengefulness at birth. The young goddess remembered her former losses in ordering the sacrifice.  
  
The gods peer eagerly at The World, hungry in their desire for power. Artemis, to whom the sacrifice is dedicated, will receive the gods' lifefood: awe, fear, belief. These human qualities keep ichor flowing in the gods veins. These qualities are the only things in humans to value.  
  
The focus suddenly shifts, and like a pack of ravenous dogs the gods of Olympus watch as a young maiden is led to a cold stone altar. Her flowing white dress is a reflection of her inner innocence, the fear in her eyes a feast for all gods near. The silks she wears are torn from her small body and she is lifted by her killers,high as a sacrificial lamb, as she is gagged. The gods view this with hunger, and draw breath as she draws her last, and a knife finds its sheath in her heart.  
  
Artemis, glowing with power, leans back from the table, as the Furies scream for justice.  
  
Zeus looks at the table, and his watchful eye sees Ares move back slightly. Zeus looks at him, and down at the table. The piece Agamemnon has moved slightly. Ares has moved out of turn, whispering in the piece's ear in sleep. The mighty ruler continues to watch as Night passes over the world, and small boats float across the pool-like sea to Troy, and smiles at Ares' manipulation.  
  
It is the turn of the Furies. Their anger is great, for they have mortal actions unavenged from the last Game. The sacrifice of Iphigenia has further angered them. Tisiphone, avenger of the murdered, summons the help of her sisters Megaera and Alecto, to make their move. They pick up the piece Clytemnestra. They turn its head toward the scene of the sacrifice, and clench its fists in a position of anger. They whisper in its ear a promise of wrath, and once more set it upon the playing board.  
  
Clytemnestra enters. In her hand she holds a handkerchief and a scroll.  
  
CLYTEMNESTRA: O husband! O wretched, damn'ed fate!  
  
O fruitless daughter! Too late  
  
I see the deception that has been performed  
  
Upon me. Sadness fills my eyes with tears.  
  
How can it be so?  
  
Last I saw my child, her cheeks did bloom  
  
A rose of happiness to greet her groom  
  
A love deep in her heart. With the finest silks  
  
Was she clothed, and ready  
  
To face the marriage-bed.  
  
Gestures with scroll.  
  
But the faithless lion, beyond my fears,  
  
Sprung, and like those who went before him  
  
Consumed his own blood for his own gain.  
  
No sacrifice was this-  
  
A simple choice- to calm a sea  
  
Or keep a daughter?  
  
He will find my sea uncalmed.  
  
And now the choice is made,  
  
And he cannot return what was not his to take.  
  
Flesh of his flesh? It was I  
  
Who bore that tortured soul,  
  
And like Gaea herself sprung forth into the world  
  
Beauty, never before seen.  
  
Clytemnestra looks toward the heavens.  
  
O daughter  
  
Who never will know what it is like to love a child  
  
You shall not go unavenged. By the gods themselves  
  
I swear that upon his return,  
  
That monster from whom you took your name  
  
Shall breathe no more than twice before his time is done.  
  
The blood of the murderer shall wash your grave  
  
And your tortured cries will be echoed in his sentiment!  
  
It is done.  
  
The gods surround the table in anticipation. Although mortals are playing pieces, occasionally they must be allowed to make their own moves. It makes The Game interesting.  
  
Ten years pass. To the gods, this is a short amount of time, but onerous to impatient children. The room gains a silence only heard upon Olympus, as the impatient gods use their time to make plans to sway proceedings in their favour, and none except Athena notice Ares once more lean forward and whisper over Troy.  
  
The goddess, long an enemy of Ares, is aware of his plans of deception, and looks to the board. Upon it is a new piece; the mortal image of Ares. Athena takes her turn and rolls a die over the board. It lands in Troy, and becomes the phantom image of a horse. The watching gods wait to see the effect of the move, and see the battle won.  
  
Ares, not satisfied with the blood he has bathed in, leans forward once more, and with a twisted sign gains revenge for Athena's victory. They watch as the young princess Cassandra is dragged from a temple dedicated to the goddess, an act of desecration that cannot be ignored. However, the goddess must wait. It is not her turn.  
  
Apollo, who considers the princess piece his own, strikes down his fellow god with a ray of sunlight, and moves forward to take his turn. Leaning forward, the ruler of the sky ponders the board. Though he owns the piece, he is not inclined to be merciful towards it. This particular piece brings him no entertainment, and so the bored god must find a way to play with it. Finally, he moves.  
  
The princess Cassandra is now upon the Argive ship.  
  
The gods once more wait as their pieces move. However, Athena, still angered at the Grecians disrespect, blows at the boats, sending a storm to ravage the fleet. The goddess has moved out of turn, but The Game has no rules to be broken.  
  
Zeus watches the proceeding storm with interest. His attention has been captured. His eyes, as he watches the boats tossed about, are as a child's. All but one boat are shattered in the storm. Athena is satisfied.  
  
The next Player reaches forward, shielding Zeus's hand from view as he places a small boat upon the board. Although the father of the gods never participates in The Game, occasionally a mighty hand tips the scales of luck.  
  
The Fury Tisiphone takes from her sister Alecto's hand a small light and sets it upon the board. She smiles as enlightenment reaches their piece, Clytemnestra.  
  
Artemis reaches once more for the die, but is stopped by the hand of Zeus. With renewed interest, the mighty god watches the board. It is understood. A mortal piece is to have a precious gift: Choice.  
  
Upon the board, the piece Agamemnon is placed before a path dressed in red. It stretches forth like a river of blood. Alongside it, visible only to the gods, a small path is lined in olive leaves. The choice is simple.  
  
All at the table hold their breath. None notice Hera blow upon Agamemnon's ear.  
  
The mortal treads upon the scarlet path.  
  
The roll of the next die clearly belongs to the Furies.  
  
Shrieking with rage, each lean over the board, stretching their hands towards it. Each places a slip of their flowing robe upon the table. Tisiphone pulls from her breast a dagger, and holds it above the table. From it falls one drop of ichor.  
  
As the droplet touches the table, it forms the shape of a sword, and lands upon the house of Atreus.  
  
Agamemnon sits in a bath, whist Clytemnestra moves about the room, seemingly preparing to help him bathe. Beneath a piece of cloth, out of sight of Agamemnon, lies a sword.  
  
AGAMEMNON: This bath, a greeting for a King!  
  
Too late, too late to wash away  
  
Ten years of soil.  
  
CLYTEMNESTRA: I too  
  
Have felt the weight of time in your absence.  
  
None could long more than I  
  
For this lion's return.  
  
AGAMEMNON: O wife, thy smiling face  
  
Brings comfort to my wearied heart.  
  
The tortured days I spent beneath Illion's walls  
  
Fall away in this cool bath- your hands  
  
Soothe the aches of the conqueror of Troy.  
  
CLYTEMNESTRA: Husband, thy wearied heart  
  
Will find more comfort than you know.  
  
AGAMEMNON: This fragrant water  
  
Soothes my poor soul.  
  
CLYTEMNESTRA: Your soul find rest, too.  
  
AGAMEMNON: My flushed skin finds this cool water  
  
As blessed as a sacred pool.  
  
CLYTEMNESTRA: I am glad to see happiness  
  
Once more fill thy breast, as would a dagger-  
  
For sure am I that all in you will ache-  
  
A soul as weary as our hunted child,  
  
A body as corrupted as hers lies in the grave,  
  
A heart as cold as the stone  
  
Upon which our daughter's blood was spilled!  
  
Clytemnestra produces a sword.  
  
AGAMEMNON: Faithless wretch!  
  
CLYTEMNESTRA: Faithless? I?  
  
I was not the one who gave my own blood  
  
In offering to a fruitless goddess  
  
To soothe a barren sea. No, husband, thy wife  
  
Has faith-  
  
AGAMEMNON: As thy sister!  
  
CLYTEMNESTRA: Your piteous barbs no more  
  
Affect me! Your horrible crime Nature abhors,  
  
And the earth itself cries `blood for blood'-  
  
Murderous blood spilled for innocent blood taken!  
  
She captures him in a net and smiles at him.  
  
AGAMEMNON: Thou hast murdered me  
  
With such deceiving smiles-  
  
I see now how you hide your spiders' silk  
  
In webs of gold!  
  
CLYTEMNESTRA: These saffron silks  
  
Are the golden cloth in which our daughter,  
  
Glowing with happiness, was to be wed.  
  
Instead, they became her funeral shroud  
  
And the white of her betrayed innocence  
  
Will soon be as crimson as your traitorous heart!  
  
Clytemnestra strikes.  
  
AGAMEMNON: Help, help! I am wounded, murdered, here in the inner room!  
  
CLYTEMNESTRA: Cry out, cry loud, for it is to no avail-  
  
Your cries only echo the screams that were blocked  
  
By a cruel cord in an untainted mouth!  
  
She strikes again.  
  
AGAMEMNON: Help, help again! Murder- a second mortal blow!  
  
CLYTEMNESTRA: Murder? How can you cry murder?  
  
Did our daughter have a chance to cry  
  
As her naked body spilled life upon cold, alien stone?  
  
No, murder this is not- but Fate,  
  
And a suitable end to a ravenous beast!  
  
Clytemnestra strikes a final blow to Agamemnon's chest, and blood spurts forth.  
  
Ah, Zeus! Holy water  
  
To cleanse the wine of treachery brewed in this house!  
  
My lord, see how I put the cup to my lips  
  
In thanks for a vulture's death!  
  
Clytemnestra kisses the bloody sword.  
  
The seated gods watch the scene with intrest. Death, while not unfamiliar to them, is an alien experience to those who cannot even feel pain. Mortals show an ability to break easily, something fascinating to beings without substance.  
  
The Furies rest upon the table. Their rage remains unsatisfied by this death. Honouring Zeus with her prayer was not the intention they had for their piece.  
  
Magaera, jealousy boiling within her breast, moves forward to claim the piece, but is halted by the hand of Zeus. For the leader of the gods, this has been a satisfactory game for him, but he grows bored.  
  
With a sweep of an arm that could change the tides, Zeus sweeps the board from the table.  
  
"Anyone for Yahtzee?"  
  
Oh, leave me not to pine alone and desolate,  
  
No fate seemed fair as mine,  
  
No happiness so great,  
  
And nature day by day has sung in notes so clear  
  
This joyous rondolet:  
  
He loves thee- he is here,  
  
Fa la la la, fa la la la,  
  
He loves thee-  
  
He is here,  
  
Fa la la la, fa la.  
  
Ah, must I leave thee here in endless night, to dream,  
  
Where joy is dark and drear  
  
And sorrow owns supreme,  
  
Where nature day by day will sing in altar tone  
  
This weary rondelet:  
  
He loves thee- he is gone,  
  
Fa la la la, fa la la la,  
  
He loves thee- he is gone,  
  
Fa la la la, fa la. 


End file.
